


Visage

by Cindé of Naboo (Matril)



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Oh the angsty angsty angst, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 18:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13277424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matril/pseuds/Cind%C3%A9%20of%20Naboo
Summary: While he waits for Luke to enter his trap, Vader finds that old memories are rising to the surface.





	Visage

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Life-long Star Wars fan here -- I've been writing SW fanfic for about seventeen years, but I've only just now decided to start posting some of it here. I lean mostly toward inner monologue and missing moments, though there's a somewhat silly AU I'll probably put up here soon. I love all six of Lucas's films, and the Skywalker family owns my heart. :)

He was coming.

At last, at last, Vader’s plans were coming to fruition. It had been a long path, far longer and far more labyrinthine than he had first anticipated, but none of that mattered now that the boy was coming. 

He had tracked the Rebels across the remotest regions of space. His forces had torn their frozen base to shreds. His fleet had followed that cursed Corellian junkship through an asteroid field and lost a fair share of men and resources in the process — and he was well aware of his officers' muttered, mutinous complaints, questioning his tactics in pursuing a single ship that only purportedly carried a few leaders rather than the bulk of the Rebel fleet. Vader did not expect their narrow minds to understand what drove him to find the boy, but no matter. They would never dare step openly out of line. 

Then his prey had flown into a well-laid trap in this unassuming mining colony. The boy was not with them. Vader had not expected him to be. He would have sensed his presence the moment their ship landed if he had been aboard. No, it was simply another step on the path, but it was very close now. It had been simple enough to torment his Rebel friends, creating the tendrils of pain and fear that would stretch out to wherever the boy was hiding and wrap themselves around his heart in strangling horror. 

Now he waited in the carbon freezing chamber, on the verge of the fateful meeting. Though it seemed that every moment of waiting stretched out longer than the last, he could be patient after waiting so long. The coming triumph would be worth every wait.

Vader had no doubts the boy was coming. He did not sense his presence here just yet, but the visions had been vivid, unmistakable. He had seen the inexorable pathway the boy must take. It was deeply familiar. At the first inkling that his friends were in peril, he would fly to their aid, brimming with that same youthful determination that had once driven Vader’s former self. To save the ones he loved.

It was a hopeless, futile quest. A lesson he would need to learn the hard way, just as Vader had. He would learn. He would see the inevitability of his fate, of the Dark Side’s irresistible power. 

All that remained was to test the freezing facility on someone expendable. The worthless would-be Rebel hero, the scum whose ship had somehow evaded Vader’s pursuit until now. Of course, Vader thought with a sardonic smile that no one could see, he could thank Solo for what he’d done shortly before the boy destroyed the Death Star. If he hadn’t intervened, Vader would have destroyed the X-wing that carried his son, learning too late of Obi-Wan’s deception. And his suffering had provided an important component in the trap laid for the boy today. 

Now Solo had outlived his usefulness. Vader watched grimly as the troopers led the prisoners up to the platform. For all his officers’ doubts, their capture truly was a triumph for the Empire’s cause. The erstwhile smuggler had inexplicably become a respected leader in the Rebel ranks, and his loss would cripple them. The princess, even more so. She was a crucial symbolic figure to the Rebellion in addition to her practical skills. He would not let her slip through his fingers again. 

And this time he hadn't bothered torturing her; not with traditional techniques in any case. He had learned from their last confrontation that she possessed a considerable resistance to physical pain. Her suffering was of the more abstract variety, more akin with the boy’s. Seeing others suffer while she watched helplessly. Such powerlessness could inflict more pain on her than any torture device.

He swatted aside the treacherous notion that he had avoided harming her for an entirely separate reason; that the discovery of his son had roused long-buried memories of a woman he had tried to forget; that her visage floated so easily now to the forefront of his mind; that the princess carried enough of a coincidental resemblance to her that he could not quite bring himself to —

Enough. Sentimental nonsense.

The Wookiee’s loyalties, he suspected, rested entirely with Solo. Without a master to tell him what to do, he would be volatile, unpredictable. Best keep him in check as well. The creature’s furious outburst only confirmed his decision. Vader watched in satisfaction as his men subdued and bound him, sparing a idle glance for the half-assembled droid strapped to his back, flailing a frantic golden arm. Speaking of sentimental nonsense…he recalled that he once carried a foolish fondness for a similar protocol droid, for a mere piece of machinery he had constructed. So many buried reminiscences rising to the surface today. He must take care. If he indulged them, they would control him, lead to places that could only ruin him.

He scowled at the sight of Solo and the princess joined in a desperate kiss, wrenched apart as they forced Solo to the central platform that would lower him into the freezing chamber. Clenched his hand into a convulsive fist as the princess cried out her love, followed by Solo’s terse response. Unwillingly he was transported to another moment. At the brink of execution, seeing her soft, tear-bright eyes, her lips speaking the words he still could not quite believe…tasting her kiss for the second and perhaps the last time…but filled with the promise of her love, charged with fresh resolve that they would both survive and seek the happiness they had too long denied themselves…

Vader returned to himself, to the taste of ashes and betrayal, the only sensation that remained to him since his imprisonment in this living tomb. Desire was a thing of the distant past. He remembered it, recollected all their moments of passion. But he could not feel it, not with what remained of his body. And love. Love. What had that ever been except a lie of the most insidious sort? It will not save you. He looked at the Princess, at the cruelly familiar anguish on her face, and wondered how long it would take her to learn the truth. There was no hope of love that did not end with treachery and despair. It would not save her, nor the man now encased in a block of carbonite. 

Vader’s resolve hardened. He would not be shaken. He would not give in to this.

The slightest weakness, any leniency at all, was unacceptable. It was obvious now that Calrissian was plotting a betrayal. Vader would have the princess and the Wookiee sent to his ship, silencing Calrissian’s objections. 

A flicker crossed his mind, like a wordless voice or a glimpse of a face that vanished too quickly to be sure if he knew it or not. He was coolly unsurprised when an officer approached a moment later and announced the arrival of an X-wing.

Vader cleared the chamber of everyone else and centered his thoughts on the boy now working his way toward his presence. They sensed each other, drawn together by an irresistible magnetism. He would come here first. As dear as his friends may be, the boy’s drive for vengeance was stronger. Already the seeds of the Dark Side were planted.

His impetuosity, his fierce determination, even his arrogance — all too familiar. Vader braced himself for the moment they would come face-to-mask. During his initial investigation of the boy’s identity, he had only been able to gather a few blurred images from what remained of the Death Star’s footage; too distant or too brief to afford much clarity. This first close encounter would be a shock. He knew he would see his old self in the boy’s face. He needed to be prepared for it so it would not shake him. He must not allow any more of this sentimentality, any lingering wistfulness toward what he used to be. The boy would need to be guided with a firm, implacable hand. No softness. No sympathetic indulgence. 

Vader was ready.

The boy was here, rising on a platform into the chamber. His cautious footsteps echoed through the cavernous silence. Vader let him come to him, sensing his mingled fear and eagerness, the Force that flowed through him with an erratic energy which he had yet to master. His tutelage would be a challenge, and all the more satisfying for it.

The boy approached.

Vader looked on him.

It was not his own face that he saw. It was his wife’s.


End file.
